


Mr. Malfoy's Lonely Hearts Christmas Party

by dirtymudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Matchmaking, Romantic Soulmates, Rough Body Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymudblood/pseuds/dirtymudblood
Summary: It was quite simple. If you wanted to meet your soulmate, you attended Draco Malfoy’s Christmas celebration.Ms. Hermione Granger,Mr. Draco Malfoy formally invites you to a Christmas celebration to be hosted at his residence, Malfoy Manor, December the 25th at 6 p.m.Please arrive by floo in the main parlour. Dress code is black tie preferred.Mr. Malfoy hopes to see you soon.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 58
Kudos: 1003
Collections: round 12 2020





	Mr. Malfoy's Lonely Hearts Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tygermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/gifts).



> Many loves to ComfortableSilences and LadyKenz347 who made this what it is. I'm a vessel for them and I love it. But any mistakes are my own fault and they shan't be blamed for it. 
> 
> Also thank you to tygermine for this insanely wonderful plot that I knew exactly what to do with right away. I really hope you like it and that this does it justice <3

It was quite simple. If you wanted to meet your soulmate, you attended Draco Malfoy’s Christmas celebration. 

It began the first Christmas after the war. Seven months post-battle, with Mother dead and his father in Azkaban; Draco had invited a few friends over for the Holiday to fill the empty manor. 

It started with just a few of them: Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Marcus Flint, Millicent Bulstrode, Terrance Higgs, and Tracey Davis. 

By New Year’s Eve, they were all paired off together. It didn’t turn heads back then. They were all Slytherins, had all known each other for years, and the public had more important things to worry about than the love lives of Death Eaters’ children so soon after the war. 

By the next Christmas Draco had, quote, slithered, unquote, his way back into Wizarding society by investing in a new Apothecary in Diagon Alley. With his newfound success came new connections in the form of shopkeepers, potion masters, ingredient collectors, and herbalists. 

The story goes that in an act of good faith, and probably good networking strategy, Draco had invited his new acquaintances to celebrate the upcoming Holiday at the manor. 

By February there were three engagement announcements, two pregnancies, and a handful of other relationships that seemed to materialize out of thin air. 

This ultimately _did_ turn heads. Namely one Harry Potter. 

Harry had found a career in Magical Law Enforcement quickly after his departure from Hogwarts. With Ginny opting to return to finish her schooling and train for a hopeful Quidditch career, their relationship had seemed to end before it had even begun. 

Broken-hearted and desperately throwing himself into his work, Harry had taken on each and every case the Ministry threw at him. Including an inquiry into the outcome of Draco Malfoy’s Christmas parties. Love potion? _Imperius_? Some sort of cursed objects that made people… happy and in love? 

Harry had written a letter to Draco, and while they had not been particularly friendly before, Draco quickly defended that he was _not_ slipping love potions into champagne _nor_ was he Imperiusing his house guests and if Harry was so sure about it, why didn’t he come to the manor this Christmas to see for himself? 

On December 26th, when Harry entered the Burrow hand in hand with Pansy Parkinson, Mrs. Weasley had lost a most precious pie dish when it slipped from her hands. 

Harry venomously denied any wrongdoing on Draco’s part. 

_“In fact,”_ he had explained when his concerned friends practically tore him away from his new Slytherin girlfriend and huddled around him in the Burrow kitchen, _“I barely saw him. I showed up, saw Pansy, and we just… had more in common than I thought.”_

As the months wore on it was quite apparent that Pansy was, as begrudged to admit it as they were, perfect for Harry. Where Harry was more or less a complete pushover, Pansy was a welcome protection for him. She had no qualms about shooing adoring fans away and giving a piece of her mind to the paparazzi. In turn, Harry made Pansy more gentle. Not only to others, but to herself. She smiled more, insulted less. 

In an interview about their romance, the pair had credited it to Draco Malfoy’s Christmas party and thus, the lore began. 

Each year, six years since the first Malfoy Christmas Ball, Draco had received hundreds of letters from wizards and witches around the globe begging to be invited. Each one on the pretence that they would start the new year with someone to spend the rest of their Christmas’ with. And each year he hand-picked fifty of those letters to respond to, inviting them to try their luck at his party. And luck they always had. 

_“It’s insane,”_ Ginny had complained once. _“Everyone thinks Malfoy is some sort of love God. It has to be a trick.”_

That was the thing she and Hermione agreed on most; perhaps it wasn’t a love potion or an _Imperius_ curse, but it was something. Hermione, still with her longtime boyfriend Ron, had scoffed at the idea of people begging to be invited to Malfoy Manor. Some of them had gone so far as to offer houses and rare artefacts _._ Had the world gone mad?

They spent the weeks leading up to Christmas teasing and mocking and turning their nose up at any and every mention of Malfoy, Christmas, and soulmates. 

Unfortunately for Hermione (and fortunately for Ginny), a beautiful card came in the post addressed to a Ms. Weasley, inviting her to a Christmas party hosted by, you couldn’t have guessed, Draco Malfoy. 

_“Surely you won’t be going.” Hermione scoffed, snatching the letter from her friend’s hand to read it through._

_Ms. Ginevera Wealsey,_

_Mr. Draco Malfoy formally invites you to a Christmas celebration to be hosted at his residence, Malfoy Manor, December the 25th at 6 p.m._

_Please arrive by floo in the main parlour. Dress code is black tie preferred._

_Mr. Malfoy hopes to see you soon._

_“Surely not,” Ginny chuckled half-heartedly, grabbing the invitation back and gnawing at her bottom lip, “Well… Perhaps, maybe, I could go. Just to disprove everyone’s theory. You know…”_

She did go. And when she returned, it was with bright eyes and Blaise Zabini practically attached to her mouth. 

Seeing how happy Ginny was with Blaise and how perfectly matched Harry was with Pansy shone a very harsh light on the incompatibility and imperfections in Hermione’s own relationship. 

It was easy to blame Draco Malfoy for her relationship’s demise. He had somehow convinced the world of a magic Hermione knew did not exist in any realm: soulmates. He had, maybe with dark magic or an ancient family curse, created a false sense of perfection. And it was hard for a couple like Ron and Hermione to match up to that perfection. 

The breakup ended up being good for Hermione, as breakups sometimes tend to be. No longer having a real anchor to Britain, she finally accepted a job offer to work on a dragon rehabilitation centre in Japan. 

That Christmas, Hermione spent it alone, in her tiny hut in Kamakura, eating wagashi and ignoring the awful feeling of loneliness that consumed her in such a far away place. 

It was almost a week before she heard from Ginny again. With so much distance between them, the owls were often significantly delayed in delivering mail. 

Hermione had just finished a shift introducing a particularly aggressive genbu to the rehabilitation centre, leaving her with singed hair and nasty burns on her hands. She smiled when she spotted Pigwidgeon, the bird seeming to pant and flutter its wings as if worn from its long flight. 

“Hello, Pig. What a trip you must have had,” Hermione cooed, gently feeding him kibble from her palm. The bird munched gratefully, offering a happy hoot in return. “Take a rest while I write a response, alright?”

Ginny was the only friend from home who kept in constant contact with Hermione. Harry was often busy with work and therefore his responses were scattered and Ron was not the best communicator to begin with. Most of Hermione’s news from home came from Ginny’s long, often excruciatingly detailed accounts. It was always nice to hear from Ginny. 

_Hermione,_

_Happy Christmas all the way from Britain. Mum wanted to send your sweater via owl post but poor Pig can barely manage a letter all the way to Japan. Must you have moved so far?_

_How did you spend the day? Bill and Fleur came with the children, Pansy and Harry even brought Teddy to play. I hate to say it but that bobbed haired monster is somehow great with children._

_Anyways, the house felt full even without most of the boys. George is opening his new shop in New York this weekend and Percy and Ron were invited to Malfoy’s Christmas party. Mum wasn’t too upset because--_

The edges of the letter tightened in her hands and she hissed as the smooth edge cut into a fingertip. 

“Blast it,” she said, tucking the finger into her mouth to angrily suck on the wound. 

It was decidedly _not_ always nice to hear from Ginny. 

Ron-- _Ron--_ had not only been invited to Malfoy’s stupid bloody Christmas party but had actually _gone._ Did no one understand the _severity_ of the situation? All of her friends had been cursed— _cursed,_ by Malfoy’s bloody house and now they thought they were in _love._

Hermione pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Stupid Malfoy and his stupid party and his stupid dark love magic and his stupid cursed house. 

Stupid Malfoy ruining Christmas. 

* * *

It was Astoria Greengrass. Hermione had heard all about her from Ginny’s responding letter. 

A petite little blonde thing in the year under Ginny. I mean, _really,_ it wasn’t that much of an age difference, but it was enough for Hermione to sniff at. 

_Everyone thought Malfoy was courting her, actually,_ Ginny’s letter said, _But her and Ron hit it off so well--_

Well that served Malfoy right. If he _was_ at one point involved with Astoria, it only seemed fitting that his own Christmas party would take her away. 

_I don’t know if I believe it though,_ the letter went on, _Malfoy always invites 50 guests, which makes him the odd one out at the party for a pair. If he really wanted her, why not even the numbers?_

That was an interesting thought. Perhaps Malfoy didn’t want Astoria and found an opportunity to get her off his back. 

The entire situation was not well received by Hermione. She had made plans to visit after the New Years holiday and the thought of staying cooped up in the burrow with her newly couples friends left a bad taste in her mouth. She penned a brief notice, citing a sudden work emergency that needed her attention and therefore she could not leave Japan. 

Ginny had offered to visit instead and while Hermione would have loved to show her friend around the beautiful area, she knew that Ginny’s “I” meant “we” and while Hermione had no ill-feeling towards Blaise Zabini, it was exactly the thing she was trying to avoid. 

So she didn’t go back for the new year. 

She didn’t go back for birthdays or Easter or Mothers Day (though she did send Molly a package of regional cooking spices). 

She worked all through the year, never taking a break or a weekend away from the dragons who had become her companions. 

By October of that year, the rehabilitation centre was down to one dragon, a baby **suzaku** named Nuri that had been separated from his mother at birth. But the bigger he got, the stronger he got, which meant the closer he got to being reintroduced back into the wild. With that came fewer excuses for Hermione to stay in Japan. 

Nuri was a welcomed distraction. Baby dragons were rare, especially without their mother. Hermione had practically raised him by herself, turning him into her pseudo child. And in the middle of November, when Nuri restlessly turned towards the sky, Hermione knew it was time. 

“Oh, Nuri,” she cooed, running a hand over the beautiful red scales on the dragon’s back. It screeched happily in her hand, unfurling its wings to let Hermione stroke between its shoulder blades. “I’m going to miss you so much. You’re the only thing in the world that’s mine, Nuri, and now I have to let you go.”

The beast purred quietly as if empathizing with her emotional struggle. 

“I know, boy, I know. I won’t keep you here. You have a family you need to find out there. And I have a family I need to return to in Britain. Isn’t that right?”

Nuri blew a smoke ring through his nose, huffing quietly as he became impatient. Hermione unlocked the collar from around his neck, letting him stretch out to his full height. A dragon flying overhead called loudly below, as if welcoming Nuri into the sky. 

Before departing, Nuri bowed down at Hermione’s feet, nuzzling his head into her outstretched hand. A thank you for her love, her compassion, her hospitality. 

He took off into the morning light, Hermione shielding her eyes from the sun to watch him and the other dragon circle each other before flying away into the skyline. 

It was the loneliest she had felt since Christmas. 

* * *

“Hermione!”

Her breath came out in one switch rush as she was crushed in the bone-breaking hug of Molly Weasley. “Hi, Molly.”

The woman stepped back, the warmth of the hug now gone and replaced by stern hands on the hip and narrowed eyes. “More than a year we haven’t seen you! Teddy is practically your height now and he barely knows his Aunt Hermione.”

Hermione smiled weakly, the guilty feeling seeping into her stomach, “It’s good to be home. I missed you. All of you.”

Molly’s hand fell from her hips and her eyes softened, “Come on, the others have been waiting for you.”

Hermione didn’t know what she expected to feel when she knew she’d see all her friends and their partners together. Surely it was not the overwhelming urge to vomit at the sight of Ginny sitting on Blaise’s knee or Astoria tucked comfortably into Ron’s side. For Merlin’s sake, it was more welcomed to see Pansy--

Hermione gasped. 

Six sets of eyes fell on her, most familiar. Ginny was the first to speak, scrambling from her beau’s lap to grasp Hermione’s hands in hers, babbling about how she missed her and asking a million questions a second about Hermione’s trip home. 

But Hermione could not take her eyes off of Pansy, who had placed a flat palm against her stomach. Her undeniably protruding stomach. Harry crept up behind her, placing a loving arm around Pansy’s waist and meeting Hermione’s eyes guiltily, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he often did when he was nervous. 

“Welcome home, Hermione.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“I told you you should have told her before she came,” Hermione heard Pansy whisper. 

Instead of answering her directly, Harry continued to face his old friend. “I didn’t want to tell you over a letter. We… I mean, I wanted to tell you in person. But then you never visited and the more time that went on the more it felt wrong to--” Harry sighed defeatedly, but placed a hand over Pansy’s on her stomach. “Well, anyway, surprise!”

“I--When? W-What?” Hermione was shaking her head rapidly. In that moment she felt so out of place somewhere she used to consider her home. 

None of them looked shocked by the news. Even Astoria was looking happily at Harry and Pansy’s interlocked hands. They all knew. They all knew because they were here and not running away to Japan to escape Draco Malfoy and his Christmas party. 

“She’s about seven months along--” Harry started. 

“It’s a boy,” Pansy offered. 

“Does-- Does Molly know?” 

Hermione heard Ron snort and her eyes flickered over to where he was sitting, catching a glimpse of Astoria elbowing him roughly in the stomach.  
“Sorry,” Ron said sheepishly. “I just mean… it’s kind of hard to hide, given how big she is.”

“Well, you lot sure did a good job keeping it from me.” 

The group looked around at each other, their mouths turned to the side. 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ginny ran a soothing hand over her arm. “It wasn’t my place to tell you in my letters. You have no idea how badly-- But aren’t you happy for them?”

Hermione blinked rapidly at Ginny’s expectant look, before she swallowed the lump in her throat, “Of course. Harry-- _of course_ I’m happy for you both. Merlin, a _baby._ I’m sorry, it’s just--”

“A lot?” Pansy snorted, her shoulders relaxing considerably. 

Hermione nodded, her mouth suddenly tasting like bile. 

“Let me take you up to your room,” Ginny offered, taking one of Hermione’s bags into her own hands.

“Here let me help--” Blaise moved to stand but Ginny held up a hand.

“No, no. It’s fine, we got it. Don’t we, Hermione?”

“Wha- Yes, yes. We’ll be down soon, I just need to freshen up.” 

The two girls nodded at each other before bounding up the stairs together. 

The room looked familiar, but felt so distant. The same stitched bedding and posters with worn corners and moving pictures plastered to the wall. But it didn’t _feel_ the same. 

“A _baby?”_ Hermione shrieked the moment Ginny closed the door behind her. 

“I know. Trust me, I know. It wasn’t easy for us to wrap our heads around either. Honestly.”

“They don’t even know what could happen,” Hermione ranted, roughly unpacking her bag, “For all we know that baby could be the product of a love potion--”

“Hermione--”

“Or some _curse--”_

“Stop--”

“And then we’ll have another bloody Voldemort--”

“ _Enough.”_

Hermione stopped at Ginny’s stern tone, turning to meet her friend’s eye. Her brows were furrowed and she looked indigent the way her arms were crossed so tightly across her chest. 

“Ginny--”

“That baby is _not_ a product of a love potion and might I suggest _not_ telling Harry you think his son is the second coming of _Voldemort.”_

Hermione tucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Ginny sighed, throwing herself onto the bed. “No, I’m sorry. I knew it was a stupid idea to keep this from you, but Harry couldn’t be persuaded. I knew you wouldn’t take it all that well. And it’s not like you’re the only one who’s voiced concerns like that. But, honestly Hermione, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you there is nothing influencing any of us.”

“No one on love potion knows they’re on love potion,” Hermione said pointedly. 

“True, but it’s already been proven that there was no trace of love potion in any of Malfoy’s guest’s systems and even so, who would be administering it after all this time?”

“It doesn’t _necessarily_ need to be a love potion, Ginny. It could be-- I mean it’s _Malfoy._ Who knows what kind of dark magic is just seeping through that manor?”

Ginny shook her head sadly, “How can it be dark magic if it brings so much love, Hermione? I know you don’t know him well, but Malfoy is Blaise’s best friend. We see him at least once a week. All of us. He’s a good bloke-- don’t make that face-- I mean, _honestly.”_

“Draco Malfoy? Seriously?”

“May Merlin strike me dead.”

Hermione sighed, focusing her efforts on unpacking again. “I won’t believe it until I see it.”

“So see it,” Ginny sat up, rummaging through the pockets of her coat.  
“What?”

Ginny offered her an emerald green envelope. One Hermione had only seen once in person, what felt like so many Christmases ago. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.

“This came for you this morning. George got one, too. It’s the first Christmas you both are back in the country.”

Hermione took the envelope from Ginny’s hands gingerly, passing it back and forth between her hands before breaking open the seal. 

_Ms. Hermione Granger,_

_Mr. Draco Malfoy formally invites you to a Christmas celebration to be hosted at his residence, Malfoy Manor, December the 25th at 6 p.m._

_Please arrive by floo in the main parlour. Dress code is black tie preferred._

_Mr. Malfoy hopes to see you soon._

“Listen,” Ginny began when Hermione didn’t answer. “I know you think there’s something unsavoury going on here. But I’m telling you there isn’t. And if you need proof of that, then accept this invitation and go see for yourself. If not _for_ yourself then for all of us down there, and that little baby, so that you don’t have to keep questioning us.”

Guilt rolled through Hermione’s stomach, and she found she couldn't meet Ginny’s eyes anymore. She stared at the ripped corner of a Weird Sister’s poster hanging on the wall, while she held her lip between her teeth.

“George wants to go. He’s so lonely without Fred, it’ll be good for him to get out there. And it would be even better if he had a friendly face there--”

“Aright, alright. No need to guilt me into it. I’ll… I’ll think about it. Okay?”

* * *

She did think about it. In fact, it was the only thing she could think about. 

What made Malfoy send _her_ an invitation? How did he even pick who he felt was qualified to attend? 

It didn’t matter, anyhow. _If_ she was to go, and she hadn’t decided yet, then it would be purely for research purposes. If she could leave Malfoy’s party alone, she’d be satisfied there was no dark magic influencing her friends. Even better, she could prove to them that the lore behind his Christmas celebration was fake. 

It was an interesting thought: did Malfoy already have a pair in mind when he invited them? He had been friends with Blaise and Pansy since nappies and had waited years to invite them. Did the curse prompt him who to involve? 

And then she wondered, just as anyone would, just who it was that was supposedly her cursed match. 

It was only three days before the party that Hermione had truly made up her mind. 

It was the most innocent of things. Astoria, Ron, Pansy, Harry, Ginny, Blaise, and she lounging around a fire with giggle water and pastries. 

Finally, Hermione felt at home; teasing Ron about the pastry crumbs left on his shirt, telling Blaise embarrassing stories of Ginny, and discussing the future plans for baby Potter. 

_“Little pots and pans.”_ Blaise called him. 

And then somehow the conversation shifted, as it does, to Christmas. Inside jokes and stories about the infamous party and how they had all _found_ each other. It was enough to make Hermione gulp down her drink in record time. Twice. 

“I’ll never fit into that dress again,” Pansy whined, gesturing to her new figure. 

Harry kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer into his side. “You don’t need to wear it again, it already did its job.”

Ginny and Hermione shared a look across the room, Ginny opening her mouth guitely in a fake gag which made Hermione giggle. 

“I know what you mean, Pans,” Astoria chimed in, running her fingers absentmindedly through Ron’s hair. “I wish I could redo that night all over again. But I can’t imagine not going. I’d be so lonely.”

Lonely. Hermione looked around at her friends. They were all perfectly content wrapped up in each other, so sure of their love and their companionship. Such a stark contrast to Hermione, who was huddled alone with an empty bottle of giggle water.

Harry had coughed harshly, a pointed sound at Astoria which made her put her hand over her mouth. _“Oh I’m so sorry, Hermione. I wasn’t thinking--”_

 _“No, it’s fine actually.”_ Hermione said through gritted teeth. _“I’ve decided I’ll be going.”_

Ginny practically squealed in delight. Jumping into rapid fire questions of what would she be wearing and how should she do her hair and who was she _hoping_ would be there?

Pansy and Astoria even joined in on the fun, offering complimentary colors for Hermione’s complexion and different cuts that would accentuate her frame. But Hermione stayed silent. She wasn’t too interested in fashion to begin with, but now she was compounded with dread. She’d now have to face the one thing she’d been avoiding for _years,_ head on. 

* * *

She had little to no say in her party attire. Apparently Hermione had too much pink in her complexion for a red dress and too little fat in her bum for a fitted gown like she had wanted. 

Instead Ginny, Pansy, and Astoria had picked out a rather pretty navy blue gown that was so tight around her waist she could barely breathe before it flared out into a thankfully not too overwhelming skirt. 

Pansy had pushed for feathers and lace while Astoria would have had her wearing a bottle of glitter if it was up to her. Ginny had insisted on a sleek, satin material that she said would not distract potential suitors from Hermione’s other beautiful attributes. 

As much as she hated to admit it, she _did_ look quite beautiful in the dress. She was by no means a tiny thing, but the ribbed top sucked her in expertly and if she kept her arms down, you couldn’t even notice the folds of fat that came up over the sides of the dress. 

In any case, she wasn’t too concerned with her appearance. She was going to Malfoy Manor for one reason and one reason only; to prove that, if there was no dark magic happening, then it was all a facade. She would leave the party empty handed and rub it in her friend’s stupid, in love faces. 

In opposition, George was practically beside himself. He had changed his tie three times. Had done his hair and then, in his nervousness, mused it up before having to redo it again. And again. 

Hermione felt for him, really. As Ginny said, he was lonely without Fred by his side and, even if Hermione didn’t believe in the magic of this party, she hoped it would be good for him. 

It was precisely 6:17 when George had emerged from the bathroom, having just fixed his hair for the third (and hopefully final) time before they left. 

“Okay. I think I’m ready. Really this time.” He smoothed a hand down his chest as his family looked on. “How do I look?”

“Wonderful, George,” Molly sniffled, smiling happily at her son. “You look so handsome. Whoever you find tonight will be a lucky witch.”

George smiled tightly, turning to face Hermione who was tapping her foot impatiently. 

“Well what are you waiting for, Granger? Let’s go.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped open, sputtering as she watched him casually stroll through the floo and call out “Malfoy Manor”. 

“ _Me?”_ She asked incredulously to her friends. 

“Don’t mind him, just go,” Ginny ushered her to the fireplace opening. “Please try to have fun and--”

“Yes, yes, Ginny, I got it.” Hermione rolled her eyes, accepting a handful of powder from the bag outstretched in Ginny’s hand. “Wish me luck.”

She called out her destination, appearing in a almost blindingly white parlor with marble fixtures and crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than her life was worth. George was seemingly casually leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, but he was biting on his thumb nervously as he watched the other patrons pass. 

“What took you so long? We’re late.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, brushing off any excess soot from the silky material of her dress. “You’re incorrigible.” 

George shrugged, ignoring her in favor of studying the other attendees. Hermione moved past him, beginning to count heads and look for anything out of sorts that she could find. 

George quickly caught up. “Listen you can’t leave me alone here. I’ll look absolutely pathetic just standing by my--”

“George Weasley?” 

A deep voice came from behind them. They both turned swiftly to be met with a friendly, familiar face. 

“Sorry to bother you, I’m not sure if you’d even remember me, I’m--”

“Ernie MacMillan,” George finished, a bright grin on his face. Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed as she watched his shoulders relax considerably and he swayed slightly forward. “Of course I remember you.”

Ernie blushed slightly, smiling down shly at his feet. Hermione’s eyes blew wide and her mouth made a wide ‘O’ at the pair in front of her. 

When she’d regained her senses she said, “Oh, um, George I’m just going to grab a drink--”

“Sure, uh-huh,” he waved her off, not even looking in her general direction. 

Hermione snickered to herself as she walked away, watching George speak animatedly from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t seen him this enthusiastic in years. 

Tucking herself into a far off corner, partially hidden by a giant fern, Hermione counted the heads carefully. Once, then twice just to make sure she didn’t accidentally include a stray waiter. Hermione furrowed her brows. There were 51 people, not including Draco Malfoy who she had yet to see. Odd, considering his usual pattern of 50. Had he invited an extra person?

As a waiter passed, she swiped a champagne flute from the tray. Carefully she wafted the fragrance of the amber liquid. While all known love potions, save for Amortentia, had a strong scent of berries; this only smelled like alcohol. Expensive alcohol, she should add. 

Bringing it up to her lips, she let the cool liquid pass over her tongue. There was no tingling, no intense flash of heat. She let it swirl in her mouth. It didn’t taste overly sweet like love potion would. 

Disgruntled, she turned her head downward to spit the offending drink into the soil of the fern plant. 

“Not to your taste, Granger?”

Hermione startled, quickly pulling a hand to her mouth to wipe away the excess liquid that still clung to her bottom lip. A pair of grey eyes blinked innocently at her. 

“If I was going to poison something, it wouldn’t be such an expensive champagne,” he raised his own glass. “Then I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.”

Hermione blushed. It was one thing to be suspicious of Malfoy and show up to his party to sniff out wrongdoing, but a whole other thing to be caught doing it. 

“Sorry. Just-- Just too dry for me, I suppose.”

Malfoy quirked a brow, as if to say _you do know I’m drinking the same thing as you and I know for a fact it’s not dry at all?_ But blessedly stayed quiet, turning his own flute up to drink from instead.

He was handsome. It was almost criminal how perfectly his hair curled around his ears and defined his sharp jawline. He wasn’t as… _pointy_ as he was in Hogwarts, but instead had harsh, jagged edges of his face and his shoulders that made him both intimidating and absolutely breathtaking. 

Hermione hoped that he was take his leave soon, wanting desperately to spend the remainder of the party looking for clues and watching the other patrons. But instead he moved forward, squeezing himself in next to her and the fern. 

“Not one for these kinds of parties, I presume? I’m surprised you came.”

“Well, you invited me.”

“I invited the Queen of England once and she didn’t attend,” he said pointedly, watching her from the corner of his eye. Covered by the plant, they were able to watch the group of witches and wizards mingle and laugh and nervously twist their hands. 

“You invited the Queen?” Hermione snorted, crossing her arms under her bust. 

She saw Draco’s eyebrows lift almost imperceptibly as his gaze flickered to her now lifted breasts and Hermione flushed, letting her arms awkwardly drop to her sides. 

“I imagine she gets lonely in such a big castle. It was only polite to extend an invitation to her.”

Hermione snorted again, very unladylike, and saw Draco smirk slightly at the sound. He wasn’t looking at her, instead watching the partygoers as they moved about the dance floor. 

“Are you saying you don’t get lonely in _this_ castle?” Hermione joked, gesturing to the high ceilings and low hanging chandeliers. 

Draco’s face fell slightly and Hermione winced. Of course, he was probably still sore about losing Astoria a year ago to the day. But he just shrugged. 

“You can be lonely in a hut as far as I’m concerned.” He did turn his face to her this time, giving her a pointed look. 

Hermione remembered her more than a year in her little home in Japan. With her only companion being Nuri and the few other workers on the reservation, she supposed he was right. She bit her bottom lip, not daring to meet his eye as she looked on at the room. 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

They sat in an awkward silence for a moment before Draco cleared his throat, bringing his fist to his mouth. “I would offer to get you some punch to replace the champagne but it seems the bowl is being occupied.”

Hermione followed his eyeline to the long marble table of pastries and cheeses and she gasped. 

“Is that _Luna?_ And… _Goyle?”_

Draco snickered at her scandalized expression. Luna was practically feeding the man with the ladle, red liquid spilling over the sides of his mouth and down his neck to stain his otherwise pristine white collar. 

“Not exactly what I expected, but I suppose they fit.”

“How so?”

“Well, Lovegood is a kook. And Goyle is an impressionable idiot. She’ll be able to convince him of Nargles in no time.” He shrugged. 

“No,” Hermione shook her head, turning her body to face him in the little corner. “I mean, what _did_ you expect?”

She didn’t exactly expect him to lay out the points of his evil, mastermind plan but she also did not expect him to bark out an unexpected laugh that made her jump. Had he _ever_ laughed before? He had significant crows feet to suggest he did. They were actually quite… endearing. 

“I actually thought Goyle would be the first one to start the New Year alone. No offence to him, bless his soul, but he’s never been really good with ladies. Or people in general.” 

Hermione gave him a cautious glare. “I thought this Christmas party was magic and all that. No one ever leaves alone.”

Draco snorted. “Magic. Right.”

“What?” Hermione huffed indignantly, not pleased by the way he seemed to be enjoying some sort of inside joke without her. 

“What? What’s so funny?”

Instead of answering, he smirked and finished off his champagne glass. “Do you want to know a secret, Granger?”

Hermione furrowed her brows and blinked rapidly, “Wha-I suppose?” 

Suddenly, he was moving away from her. Crossing the room and smiling politely as the partygoers attempted to stop him to talk. Hermione stood completely still, watching as he made his way to a large door on the opposite wall. 

He cracked it open and slid into the opening before peeking his head out and beckoning her forward with a wink and a crooked finger. 

Hermione blinked, picking up the skirt of her dress to follow Malfoy. He had already disappeared through the door, but left it open a crack to tell Hermione to follow him. Before exiting, she glanced back at George who now had one hand casually grazing the cuff’s of Ernie’s sleeves. Content that he would be okay without her, Hermione left the ballroom and stepped into a dimly lit hallway. 

Malfoy was there, leaning against a wall a few doors down. He cocked his head towards the nearest door. “This way.”

It was an office. Much more personal than Hermione expected. Where she assumed would be dark leather and green velvet was rich browns and burgundy. It was all very homey and not at all what she would imagine Malfoy’s study to look like. 

He was rummaging through a closet, knocking over books and empty containers. When he emerged, he was carrying three large boxes. He gestured for Hermione to sit on a nearby plush couch and dropped the boxes in front of her with a loud thud. 

Hermione quirked a brow but lifted a lid of the top box. She gasped. “Oh my god. Is this--”

“Blaise calls them applications.”

There were letters. Dozens, no, _hundreds_ of them. Different types of papers and pen colors and handwriting. 

_Hello Mr. Malfoy_

_Dear Mr. Malfoy_

_I’m not sure if you remember me but_

_Al signor Malfoy_

“Are these all the letters people have sent asking to be invited to your Christmas party?” Hermione asked incredulously, picking through the various letters. 

Draco laughed, “Yes. _This year.”_

Hermione gasped and let out her own laugh. She knew people were desperate but this… this was absurd. 

“Dear Mr. Malfoy,” she read aloud, “I am writing to request an invitation to your Christmas celebration on behalf of my daughter, Deirdra, who has just turned _sixteen--_ Oh _God.”_

Draco laughed in agreement, throwing himself onto the couch next to her to lounge casually, an arm thrown over the back of the couch. Hermione blushed. She could smell his cologne from here: minty and earthy with a touch of the remnants of alcohol on his breath when he laughed. 

“Yes, unfortunately I get a lot of those. Parents who wish to pair their children off with their _soulmate_ and leave the house.”

Hermione watched him roll his eyes dramatically and she giggled, “So that’s the secret then? You’ve become a pimp for parents?”

“Barely,” he drawled. “I’d never invite someone that young. Not only are they a hazard to the expensive porcelain but I’m not even quite sure of the legality.” 

“So what is it then?”

He leaned forward. For a moment Hermione held her breath. The way he leaned in with such a predatory smirk on his face made her flush and, just for a second, she thought perhaps he was leaning in to kiss her. But when he veered off to place his lips near her ear, she shuddered slightly. 

His breath was hot against her cheek and blew the wisps of hair around her ear as he whispered, “It’s all bullshit.”

He leaned back, perhaps oblivious to the fact that Hermione was practically squirming. His face looked smug, as if he had just solved the world’s oldest, hardest riddle. 

“What?”

“It’s bullshit. All of it. All of this,” he gestured to the study door where they could hear the faint trickles of music coming from the ballroom. “It’s not _real._ Everyone thinks there’s some sort of magic or _something_ that makes all these couples come together. I know for a fact you came to prove the same thing, didn’t you? Except while everyone else thinks this is beautiful, wonderful magic you suspected me of something, what? Evil, I suppose?”

Hermione gulped. “I--”

“It’s fine,” Draco waved his hand as if swatting away her impending apology. “I don’t blame you for it. But, that’s the secret. There _is no_ magic. Dark or otherwise.”

Hermione shook her head as she processed Draco’s sudden confession. If that was true, if what he was saying was true then--

“There’s no way, Malfoy. No way somehow, without magic; dark _or_ otherwise, that _every single_ person has come back from your party somehow finding their soulmate.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She crossed her arms over her chest again, too occupied to notice when his eyes flickered down to her cleavage again. 

“Do you even believe in soulmates, Granger?”

Hermione scoffed, “ _Well--”_

“Do you honestly think somewhere down the line, Astoria Greengrass was made for _Ronald Weasley?_ Out of billions of people? And somehow she happened to be in Britain and happened to be a witch amongst all other happenings?”

_“No--”_

“Exactly,” Draco said, pleased with her summation. “You know that. And I know that. But _they_ don’t. They think this magical party has led them to their one true love and that it’s _fate.”_

“Surely you’re not suggesting this is all a coincidence.”

“Let me put it this way,” Draco began, leaning forward onto his knees to meet her eyes. 

“After the war, everyone had lost someone. Friends, family, other loved ones. That first party was the first gathering that had nothing to do with death and they latched onto that and to each other. They found each other because they _needed_ to. The second year, well, you stick a group of young, attractive people with similar interests into a room and something is bound to happen, yeah?”

Hermione gave him an unconvinced look. 

“By the third year people thought I was some sort of matchmaking God. I was young and I was so separated from the rest of the wizarding world, I just let them continue to think that. So people started writing to me. I mean _thousands_ of people, Granger. Because they thought I was going to find them their perfect match.”

“But?”

“But it’s not _me._ I have nothing to do with it, save for the invitations. Which I do pride myself on, by the way.”

Hermione smoothed down the front of her dress. “So, how _do_ you pick who you invite?”

“I read the letters and find who’s lonely. There’s those who want a partner for money or some who just want to come and see if the rumors are true. But then there are those whose loneliness literally radiates from their letters. And when you’re that lonely and someone has given you hope for finding love, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“But I’m not lonely. And you still invited me.”

“Please. Even if I believed you weren't, I didn’t invite you because _you_ are lonely. I invited you because _I_ am.”

Hermione started in her seat. _“What?”_

“We’re the two loneliest people here, Granger.” He ignored her bewildered look. “I am because I know this isn’t real. There’s no magic or curse or potion. It’s just proximity. And you’re lonely because you know it too.”

“I don’t understand, Malfoy.”

He was silent for a moment. “I’m going to kiss you--”

_“What?”_

He had said it as if he was reading a footnote to a book and not absolutely tilting Hermione’s world on its axis. 

“--and when I do and you don’t feel anything, then I’ll prove to you that this isn’t some grand scheme and you can go home to your friends assured that they really do love each other and not _soulmates._ And when the public hears that you’ve left the Malfoy Christmas party alone, then I’ll be exposed as a fraud and I never have to throw another party again.”

He sounded quite pleased with his reasoning. But there were so many layers to that statement, Hermione couldn’t find one to latch onto.

“I--but--when-- Why don’t you want to throw a Christmas party anymore?”

Draco tilted his head to the side, assessing her seriously. “It was nice at first. To have the Manor so full, I mean. Even if it’s only once a year. We used to have balls like these when I was a child, it’s some of my happiest memories. But now it’s just a reminder how empty it is the rest of the year. I just…” he thinned his lips. “I just think it would hurt less if it was empty all the time.”

Hermione’s heart squeezed. Here he was, this lonely man who had watched hundreds of couples come and go from his manor to never have that experience himself. And it had taken such a toll on him that he had invited the one other person in the world he knew would believe him to end it. 

“Okay.” Hermione licked her lips, wiping her sweaty hands over the silky fabric of her dress. “Okay. Kiss me.”

He looked surprised, as if he had expected some sort of argument about it. But nevertheless he licked his own lips, took his arm from the back of the couch and wound it around the back of her neck. She shivered at the gentle touch and parted her lips. 

When he finally pressed his lips against hers, it was like a vibration that ran from her head all the way to her toes. Her fingers curled in her lap as she began to lean forward and deepen the kiss. But before she could, he was pulling away. 

His face was flushed and he looked almost as shocked as Hermione felt. 

That was… it was not _nothing._

“See--” he started.

“Shut up.” 

“What?”

“Shut up for a second, I’m thinking.”

It was like a buzzing that began in her stomach and vibrated across the rest of her body. Perhaps it was the fact that this was _Christmas._ This was _Christmas_ as _Malfoy Manor_ and instead of finding dark artifacts she had found… _something._

“Well that’s just rude--”

Hermione surged forward again, capturing his bottom lip. He was hesitant at first, his hands balled into fists in his lap and his mouth moved slowly against hers. But then he snaked a hand around her waist and plunged another into her hair, pulling her closer. 

He was practically attacking her. What had started out with Hermione leading the kiss, quickly gave way for Draco taking control.

Hermione’s nails dug into Draco’s fine hair, musing his stupid, perfect hairs and scratching against his scalp until he moaned deep in his throat. A sound that had Hermione’s heartbeat quicken and her head dizzy. 

Draco was the one to pull away first, gasping for air and looking bewildered. “Granger, wha--”

“Merlin, _shut up.”_

She climbed onto his lap, hiking her skirt up around her hips to straddle him. She took his head in her hands and kissed him hard. 

“This defeats the whole purpose of--” he began to mumble against her lips and she groaned, sitting back against his legs. 

“I don’t understand. Are you complaining? You’re lonely. Obviously. I’m lonely. You’ve come to the conclusion that lonely is for lonely so are you going to continue to interrupt or would you please help me unzip my dress?”

Draco sat silently for a moment, blinking up at the woman on his lip with wide eyes and parted lips. And then finally, he laughed. “You bloody witch.” 

Hermione squealed when she was suddenly thrown off of his lap and landed on the couch on her stomach. She felt Draco behind her, running his hands over her sides and around her back to unlatch and unzip her dress. 

“We’re both very stupid for such intelligent people,” Draco joked and Hermione turned her head to catch his gaze over her shoulder. 

“How do you figure?”

“Well,” he began to help her sit up, letting the front of the dress fall forward to expose her chest to him. He sucked in a breath as her nipples pebbled even in the warm office air. “For one, you’re stupid because I just admited I’m a huge, pathetic, lonely fraud and that made you want to shag me.”

Hermione stood and let the dress fall the rest of the way into a giant puddle of blue fabric on his floor. She began to unbutton and remove his coat and shirt as he unbuttoned his trousers. 

“And _I’m_ stupid because I’m letting you.”

When he was finally undressed, they worked on shimmying Hermione out of her now ruined panties. Draco circled an arm around her waist and shoved her back towards the couch. Hermione was now kneeling on the cushions, her chest against the back of the couch and her head lulling over the edge. 

Before she could turn Draco knelt behind her, pressing his chest against her bare back. She could feel his cock, hard against the back of her thigh and she couldn’t help but to arch her back and press closer to him. 

Draco hissed at the contact, winding his hand around the front of her neck to pull her head back to lay against his shoulder. 

“You’re insane.” he mumbled against her skin, biting into the juncture of her neck that made her twitch.

“I thought I was stupid.”

He laughed and gently licked the new wound on her neck to soothe it. “You’re insanely stupid.”

Hermione moaned, craning her neck to capture his lips over her shoulder. Draco moved his hand down from where it was wrapped around her neck to pluck at a dusty nipple, switching between hard tweaks and gentle circular movements of his thumb over the nub. 

“Fuck,” she hissed at a particularly violent tug and covered his hand with hers to guide it down the planes of her stomach and to cup her mound. She pulled her hand away, but Draco quickly caught her fingers with his hand and directed them into her slick folds and over her throbbing clit. 

He guided her with strong fingers how he wanted her to touch herself, with slow circles and gentle pressure. 

“Keep them there. Keep doing that.” He instructed. 

Draco removed his own hand and Hermione whimpered at the loss. Suddenly his hand was between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward until her head was resting on the couch. The plush material felt soft on her cheek as she looked back at Draco, who had sunk the two fingers that had been guiding hers into his mouth. 

He grunted softly as he removed the digits, now shiny and wet with his spit, before reaching down and prodding her entrance. Hermione was practically dripping now, afraid that his surely expensive couch was now ruined. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be too mesmerized by the way her inner muscles contracted around the tip of his index finger as he teased her. 

“If you don’t hurry up it won’t be Christmas anymore.” her voice was muffled slightly by the cushions against her face which quickly turned into a squeal, then a moan when he finally plunged both digits into her. 

“It’ll be just as good on Boxing Day, I assure you. Impatient witch.” 

He worked her expertly, curving his fingers forward to press against the sensitive muscles of her front walls and using his thumb to tease the taut flesh between her arse and her entrance. Hermione was thankful she was able to support herself against the back of the couch as her knees trembled violently and her thighs jumped with each pass of her fingers across her clit. 

It was building up inside of her, starting from her chest and pulsing through her in waves. Draco was behind her, his mouth biting and sucking and kissing across the planes of her shoulder as he pumped his fingers in and out. She was desperate for it, pushing back to fuck herself faster on his hand.

“Please. Please I’m so-- I’m so-- _please,”_ she babbled, pressing her face further into the couch, her drool wetting a spot next to her mouth as she begged for release. 

“Please what?” He slowed his fingers considerably, a slow drag of his hand that made Hermione practically growl in frustration. 

“ _Please,”_ she panted. “Want-- Please--”

“Please who, Granger?”

He had almost completely extracted his fingers, barely a ghost of a touch against her center. Hermione whined, trying desperately to move herself back onto his hand but he kept her in place with a strong arm against her back. 

“Please, Malfoy,” she sniffled, so close to release she could taste it. The edging was tortuous, she felt it behind her eyes and in her throat.

She almost cried when he fully moved his hand away, but it was soon replaced by something thicker, his knees nudging hers farther apart. 

“Want you, Please,” she continued. “Need you. Please, please, please.”

“Look at you. You’re practically gagging for it, aren’t you?” 

She could feel him circling his cock slowly around her entrance, coating himself in her juices. She nodded quickly, her cheek scratching against the material of the couch. She was going to have to purchase him a new one if she couldn’t get the mascara stains out. 

He pushed forward just slightly, just enough that the tip of his cock was stretching her deliciously. Her eyes rolled back and a low moan tore from deep in her throat. 

“Pretty thing,” Draco cooed behind her, leaning forward to move the hair from her face so he could stroke her exposed cheek gently. His thumb felt cool against Hermione’s flushed face. He dragged his thumb down until it passed her open, panting mouth. He probed it gently before Hermione opened for him, letting him run the pad of his finger over her tongue. “Suck.”

She complied, closing her lips around him and flicking her tongue over the tip of his finger and giving slow licks to the knuckle. He growled softly, his other hand coming up to steady himself on her hip before thrusting forward and impaling her on his cock. 

She screamed around his finger, biting down harshly as he stretched and filled her. He didn’t seem to notice his now surely injured thumb; it only spurredr him on further. Not giving her a moment to adjust to the thickness of him, Draco pulled out before quickly thrusting back into her. 

He used the hand on her hip and the thumb in her mouth to move her against him, pulling her back as he pushed forward to meet in the middle in hard, savage thrusts. 

“So fucking good,” he panted behind her. Hermione’s head was spinning. She didn’t know where to focus: the cock that was practically splitting her in half, the thumb that was fucking her mouth, or her own fingers rubbing desperate circles over her clit. All three were too much, not enough. “You take my cock so _fucking_ good. Fuck. _God.”_

The fingers that gripped her hip were twitching, clenching tighter around her as he picked up his pace. 

“Gonna fucking ruin you, Granger. Mine now--” he took his thumb from her mouth and Hermione gasped for air, loud moans ripping through her as she sobbed her agreement. 

His newly freed hand reached down to rip away her own from between her folds, replacing it with his thumb to press rough, rapid circles on her aching clit. 

“Fuck-- wha-- I can’t-- too much--”

He didn’t relent, pushing her body over and then past the edge. She came with a sob, her face pressed completely into the couch cushion as her body twitched and convulsed around him. 

“Fucking mine-- _fuck--”_ he drove into her wildly, her constricting muscles tight around his thick cock. The fingers on her clit let up and Hermione breathed a shaky sigh of relief, his hand now holding her face to the side. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he watched her. His face was flushed and his eyes were almost black in the dimly lit room as he clenched his jaw.

“Yours.” She cooed, reaching a free hand to clasp his wrist as he pounded into her. 

The sound he made was between a growl and a whine as he came, stilling inside of her and filling her. It was animalistic and primal and Hermione decided it was the most wonderful thing she had ever heard. 

He pulled out of her, tugging her into his arms as he fell back onto the couch. They were both panting fiercely. Hermione knew her face was probably a mess of running makeup and tears and spit when Draco huffed a laugh and ran a thumb under her eye. 

Wandlessly he conjured his discarded coat into a thick blanket and pulled it over them. 

They laid in silence as their bodies came down from their highs, listening to the faint trickle of voices as the guests said their goodbyes to each other. 

“This really wasn’t my intention in inviting you.” 

When Hermione looked back, Draco’s lips were pulled into a thin line and he wasn’t meeting her eyes. 

“I know you probably think I’ve put you under some spell now and--”

“I don’t.” 

Draco gave her an unimpressed look and snorted softly. 

“I’m serious. I’m sorry… I’m sorry I thought so poorly of you. I think I was just jealous of everyone finding their quote unquote perfect match that I felt like I had to blame _something_ other than myself.”

The Manor was silent now, the music had stopped and there were no more voices that echoed in the hall. Draco buried his face in the tangle of curls at her neck. 

“Think it was a successful night?” he asked suddenly. 

“For you?”

“No, I _know_ it was for me. You, too. I meant everyone else.”

Hermione thought to George, how light he looked. Not in the literal sense, but in the way that as soon as he saw Ernie it seemed that everything had come off his shoulders even for a moment. 

“I’d say so. I know why you invited _me,_ but why did you invite George, too?”

Draco’s lips twitched against her neck. “He wrote me actually. He said the only person who knew he was gay was Fred, and it was lonely carrying that secret alone now.”

Hermione nodded, her heart constricting for the boy who was like family to her. “And you knew he and Ernie would hit it off?”

Draco sat up, quirking a brow at her. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Honestly… He’s the only other gay wizard I know,” he admited sheepishly. 

Hermione blinked at him and then doubled over in laughter. “Malfoy, that’s ridiculous.”

“I know.” He shrugged, bashfully reaching up to scratch his nose. 

“I mean that’s _awful!”_

“Yes, yes, Granger, we’ve already established I’m not some mastermind matchmaker. I work with what I have.” Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his smirk. 

“No,” Hermione admitted softly, cuddling closer into his side. “But you’ve done a lot of good. Your parties have, I mean. If I make sure you’re not lonely the other 364 days of the year, will you continue?”

* * *

That party, like the six others before it, was a success. 

Luna and Goyle were a match made in some demented sort of hell. Their public displays of affection knew no bounds and, when they were married, they did so in a nude ceremony: stripping themselves of all their materialistic things to bind themselves together forever. It was not a wedding Hermione would like to repeat. 

George and Ernie were more subtly perfect. Where George was wild with inventions and ideas, Ernie was more logical with business and finances. They balanced each other, and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, perfectly. 

Pansy and Harry’s baby, James, was the worst, more wonderful combination of their two personalities. When Hermione had held him for the first time, with big green eyes shining up lovingly at her, she couldn’t contain her sobs of guilt that she could ever think this baby would be anything but wonderful. Pansy was more hesitant to let her hold him now. 

James was also a welcome visitor to Malfoy Manor, where he terrorized the white peacocks and screamed loudly in the hallways to echo back at him. 

Hermione had scolded him once, afraid that Draco would be put out by the tumultuous child. But instead, he yelled with him. Echoing the halls with their laughter and filling the Manor in a way Draco had craved. 

True to her word, Hermione made sure Draco was not lonely. In turn, he agreed that they would spend their Christmases watching couples succumb to a magic that didn’t exist. 

She even helped him sort through “the applications”:

_… I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Emma Tarwell and I’ve just passed my 45th birthday and I’m beginning to lose hope on love all together. My friends are married off with children now and I crave that for myself. Do you believe in soulmates?..._

Hermione looked out the window of their shared study, looking over at Draco with his arms crossed in the yard watching James chase an unlucky peacock around the pond. 

_Ms. Emma Tarwell,_

_Mr. and Mrs. Granger-Malfoy formally invite you to a Christmas celebration to be hosted at their residence--_

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Every Christmas, Draco throws a singles party. This year, he invites Hermione, recently back from working overseas. (Or vice versa).
> 
> Chat with me on tumblr! dirty-mudblood.tumblr.com


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